


Farewell, Steve Trevor

by Lothlorienx



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothlorienx/pseuds/Lothlorienx
Summary: So many years after she went to the war, Diana needs to commemorate Steve Trevor as best she can. Not only for herself, but for everyone. The Amazons don't fight against Ares, but rather they fight with their brethren.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Farewell, Steve Trevor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlygonRider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlygonRider/gifts).



There were only three statues of men on Themyscira; one of Apollo, one of Hades, and one of Ares. Ares was there to remind the Amazons what they fought against, and why they trained like they did; Hades was there flanking the entrance to the underworld, his Goddess Queen Persephone on the other side, both of them standing as haunting reminders that when they passed, they would stand in judgment of them; and Apollo was there simply because he won a bet against his sister.

Apollo's statue stood stark-naked in the middle of a fountain playing a lyre, probably just to remind them what men looked like. According to Diana's mother, once it had been erected, Apollo himself had come down to bless the image of him, remarking that although it was magnificent, it would never be able to capture his true beauty. Hippolyta had merely rolled her eyes at that and Artemis smacked him on the side of his head, to which he only chuckled in response.

But soon there was to be a fourth.

Diana Prince, Princess of the Amazons and savior of Paradise Island, sat alone in her bedroom that night with nothing more than a chisel, a hammer, a slab of marble, and her vivid memories of the man that showed her the outside world.

She had been working at his statue for weeks now, chipping away all that wasn't him, and leaving only what was. Diana had rendered his body perfectly, sculpting the strange clothing he had worn as good as she could remember it. He had worn pants, boots, a heavy jacket...and there were things on his jacket that she had never quite figured out. Badges and medals and some strange sorts of colors. It all blurred together in her mind, but she tried her best to render those too.

But it wasn't the strangeness of his clothing or the strength of his stance that she worried about; it was his face that concerned her. She had left it off until very last, not quite wanting to see him looking back at her after all this time. It seemed like it had been a thousand years ago that she had gone to war with him, and he had sacrificed himself, and she could only watch and scream knowing that she could never have saved him, but it had only been a few years at most. Maybe a decade.

Despite the passing of time, his face remained crystal clear in her mind. She knew that she would never forget his face until the day she died.

Diana sighed, putting her hand on the marble. It was cool to the touch, the night air having settled in her room. But she did not shiver, did not pull her hand away. She let it linger there until the marble was warm under her touch, and it almost felt like he was real again, like it was really him underneath the cold stone exterior. If she focused, she could almost hear his voice, almost hear him laughing with her and his friends, telling her he loved her.

She ran her hand over the blank face of the statue, trying to muster the nerve to finally chisel into it. But the tools felt heavy in her hand, and she could only stare at it, picturing the warmth of his face and the vibrancy in his eyes.

"I miss you," she whispered. "I wish it had never happened. We should have been there sooner. We could have stopped the war. I could have stopped the war."

If the statue had had a face, she would have broken down crying, not able to handle the tsunami of emotions that would have come crashing into her. She'd never seen death before the outsiders came to Themyscira, though she'd always heard about it. Her friends dying in her arms had hurt her the most, but in a dull type of way. Like this was somehow happening to someone far away from her, because no one ever died on Themyscira. They were immortal, forever young, forever strong. She saw them die right there on the beach, and she didn't believe that it had happened.

But Steve Trevor, he was mortal. All of those people from the outside world, they were mortal. Her beach was littered with blood and corpses, and she knew they were dead, because they weren't Amazons. Even then, it didn't feel real. These were how dead bodies looked, and there were dozens of them, but it still seemed like it was some nightmare from her past. She remembered thinking to herself, when she saw the graveyard laid before her, "So this is what death looks like."

And then she left Themyscira. She went to the world of men, the world of mortals, the world of war. Everyone was dying; young and old, man and woman, children, the disabled, everyone...

It had rattled her, deep inside of her soul, but she powered on still. This was death. This is what she was here for; no one else would have to die at the hands of the dictators and tyrants. Ares would die by her hands, and he would be the last death she would ever have to see. The world of mortals was so short and cruel but it was so beautiful; even with their short and fragile lives, they managed to create such strength and love between themselves that Diana found it endearing. Even if they were to one day die and head into darkness, the bright fire of their life would continue to shine on for decades to come.

But Steve Trevor...

His death had finally made it all seem real. He was the last person she ever saw die, up there high in the sky, his body incinerated in the explosion, torn to pieces by the shrapnel, and then crushed into dust from his thousand-foot fall. The world seemed empty then; hollow, bare, bleak, and so, so real. This was the death that haunted her, made her see her life and the life of all her fellow Amazons in such a different light.

Steve went to war knowing that he would die at any moment; she went to war knowing that she would return the victor. It was hard for her to swallow that, even after all this time had passed. He died. He went down to the Hall of Hades. He crossed the River Styx with Charon. He drank from the River Lethe to forget his past life. With any luck, he was wandering the endless fields of Elysium without pain or worry or regret.

Diana sighed and turned away from the blank face, setting her tools down and walking to her window.

Themyscira was deadly quiet this time of night. A cool breeze rushed through her window, lifting the gossamer curtains in the air. The moon shone brightly over the ocean, illuminating a million little waves all churning together to make up the great ocean currents. Beneath her, the roofs of the houses seemed small, dappled by faint moonlight and utterly abandoned. By dawn, they would be populated again, women coming out of their homes to begin their morning routine, to cook their breakfast and drink their watery wine. Some preferred to bathe on their roofs, letting the sun cleanse them as well as the water.

Diana eyed the horizon, knowing that beyond that line a whole other world awaited her. She had thought of going back a handful of times, but she never did. Paradise Island was her home, and all the women were her sisters in arms. But tonight, of all nights, as she stood at her window looking at where the sky and sea met, she thought of escaping into the night with her boat and sailing off into the world of mortals again.

How many years had it been? Would she recognize anyone? Were her friends still alive, or had they all grown old and passed from this land?

Diana walked away from the window. She knew there was no point in simply standing there, letting her thoughts run rampant and her emotions get the better of her. She went back to Steve's statue, picked up the tools, and took a deep breath. His face was as clear as ever; his strong jaw, sharp eyes, kind smile. The hammer swung forward and the chisel cracked the marble, a bit of dust and a small chunk falling to her feet with the rest of the debris.

Diana didn't stop, couldn't stop. It was as if his face was floating before her, demanding that he be carved. As she worked, she could feel his presence in the room with her, and she thought back to the night they danced in that small village with the destroyed church and soft music. She remembered his face in the lamplight as they swayed back and forth in that cold night air, snow just starting to fall, the happy chattering of people all around her. It was the first time she had seen snow; Persephone's descent didn't bring the frost and frigid winters the rest of the world experienced.

When she was done, she stepped back to admire her work. There he was, staring back at her, his face just as she remembered. It wasn't a look of brave determination, or of helplessness and sorrow; it was the same look that he had given her that night they danced. Soft, subtle happiness over a victory fresh won, enjoying the night with his fellow countrymen, feeling safe and secure that he was with her, dancing with her, and all those people danced freely because of them. It had been a single moment of peace amongst the chaos of the war, and to Diana that had seemed like the sweetest moment in her life.

She touched her cold marble face again, waiting to feel the warmth from her fingers seep into the stone, but it seemed like it never did.

xoxo

The next night, Diana mixed her paint. No statue was complete without its color.

His clothing was the easiest, since they had been so dark and drably colored. Everything about the mortal world seemed that way. All of their clothes were dark and somber, the very color palette of their world reflecting the dismal, cheerless time they had been born into. Blacks and browns and grays, sometimes muddy beiges and heavily faded greens and steely blues.

When she got to his face, the mixed the colors brighter than they had been. His blue eyes were now strikingly saturated, gazing at her as she applied the blurred eye shines. And his hair was now vibrant and golden, a bit of mica powder mixed in to make him shimmer in the sunlight. His skin was fresher and rosier now, a healthy glow making that cold statue feel alive.

It was nearly dawn when she was done and the had paint dried.

She peered out her window. Her mother's attendants were normally the first ones up, but their house was as still and quiet as ever. Breathing deep, she smelled no breakfast cooking, no sound of a woman washing on her roof. Diana turned back to the finished statue of Steve, hoisting him off the ground and onto her shoulders. Even with all her Amazonian strength, he still felt heavy to her, but she supposed that was more because of the sorrow than the actual marble.

The halls were quiet; her footsteps didn't echo, for she was barefoot. No one crossed her line of sight, no voice could be heard. It was just her and Steve's statue, alone in the middle of the night.

Diana knew exactly where she wanted to put Steve. She had debated it for a long time; she thought of putting him in the square where he could be admired by all, but she knew her sisters wouldn't have liked that, or of putting him at the entrance of Hades to signify his passage to the underworld, reminding her that he had died selflessly trying to save others.

But in the end, she decided that the best place for him was atop the tallest mountain in Themyscira. She climbed the mountain barefoot with his heavy marble statue on her back, feeling like Sisyphus as she did so. But she knew that, unlike Sisyphus, she wouldn't have to make this trek over and over again for the rest of her life.

When she got there, she hoisted him down of her back and planted him in the soil, steadying his statue by piling up the dirt around it until she was satisfied that he would never be knocked down.

As the sun rose, for the first time in ages, Trevor looked upon the golden glow of the dawn. His hair was beginning to glitter in the light and his eyes had the same spark of life that she remembered. And that was how he would forever stay; looking out over the ocean at the land beyond their small little island, his gaze piercing through their veil of secrecy and reminding them all that it wasn't that they fought against Ares but rather fought with their brethren.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments welcome!


End file.
